


The Art of Falling

by BadWolfGirl3



Series: Ars Amatoria [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Apparently parenthesis and I have a thing now, Attempt at poetic-ness, But it didn’t really work out, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley POV, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Dramatic as hell, First Kiss, First Time (Vague), Getting Together, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), I’m sorry, M/M, Oops, Pining, abuse of parenthesis, like seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 02:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19367854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolfGirl3/pseuds/BadWolfGirl3
Summary: It starts in The Beginning.Maybe Crawly should back away from whatever this is shaping up to be before he gets in too deep (He knows he won’t).A look at Crowley’s feelings for Aziraphale during their time together and what happens after the Almost-ageddon.





	The Art of Falling

**Author's Note:**

> So guess who watched the whole show today (well... yesterday, now, I guess) and fell completely in love with our ineffable husbands? And normally I don’t write things without spending a lot of time in a fandom and getting a feel for it, but I can’t sleep and this seemed like a good way to fix it. So I’d be weary of some OOC-ness, there’s probably a bunch of it in there. Hope you enjoy!

It starts in The Beginning.

Maybe not the beginning of The Beginning, but somewhere towards the middle of it. The waters and lands are filled with a countless amount of creatures, the sun sets and rises each day, and somewhere in the garden they call Eden are two new beings, humans, who have just made the biggest mistake (or is it the biggest blessing?) of their lives.

And Crawly has already Fallen (later he will remark it as “sauntering vaguely downward”, but this is an attempt to mask the pain).

He has just met the angel Aziraphale, a gentle and good being who has an impossibly kind and open face and gives the humans a flaming sword from _God Herself_ because they were _having a bad day_.

Maybe he should back away now while he still has the chance (he knows he won’t).

The thing that he remembers most, the moment that will burn in his memory for the next 6000 years, is when the sky opens for the first time and the angel drapes a wing over him to shield him from the deluge.

Him, a being who is supposed to be his mortal enemy, a fallen angel not worth even glancing at. A monster with slits for pupils and wings darker than soot. And the angel, Aziraphale, doesn’t even hesitate.

(He doesn’t know it, but this is the moment that condemns him and chains him to this beautiful being for eternity).

…

They meet many times over the years, and each time Crawly (Crowley now, so much less what he knows he is but doesn’t want to face, a name he can hear from decaying lips without wanting to scratch at his skin until he bleeds) sees him he falls a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and it’s nothing like The Fall, a never ending dive that ended with a bone shattering crash. This is a different feeling, where the heart he doesn’t have or need feels like it’s being wrenched out of his chest but it _feels so good._

He finds excuses to be around the angel, is thrilled when The Arrangement allows them to interact more than they ever have before. And a small part of him is afraid, not exactly for himself but for what he could lose. Head Office doesn’t usually check in, hasn’t yet, at least, but Aziraphale’s worries eventually get under his skin enough that there are times where he can’t think for fear of everything they have being ripped away from him (it is these moments where the air he shouldn’t need is sucked from his chest and his knees won’t hold him up anymore).

He ends up seeking insurance, afraid of an eternity stuck _down there_ without his (and since when did he start thinking of Aziraphale as _his_?) angel or something worse, and later tries not to let his unnecessary breathing and unnecessary heart get out of control when Aziraphale eventually gives it to him, acts like he actually _cares_ (but what the Heaven does “you go too fast for me” even  _mean_?).

Regardless, he continues, because a minute with the angel is worth a lifetime of damnation.

…

The demon has already known he will do anything for Aziraphale.

The angel seems to have an uncanny knack for stumbling into unfortunate situations. He’s saved his existence before, during the aptly named Reign of Terror, when a pair of clothes got him a one way ticket to the guillotine (his angel only wanted some crepes, and if that doesn’t make the cynical, old part of him scoff while the part of him that Aziraphale holds in the palms of his hands warm with affection then nothing else will), and does it again now, trespassing on consecrated ground to make sure he doesn’t have to deal with the hell that comes with being discorporated.

It feels like walking on hot coals barefoot, even with shoes on, but he does his best to just ignore it and keep them off the ground for as long as possible. It’s worth it to save him from a lot of problems later, and when the bomb hits he knows that without a doubt Aziraphale won’t let them (him) burn.

The little demonic miracle he performs to save those blasted books his angel can’t live without is so worth it when Aziraphale looks like he hung the stars (which he did, but no one has ever looked at him like that and suddenly he feels lightheaded and dizzy, and that pesky heart of his speeds up until it almost beats out of his chest).

Crowley knows without a doubt he would brave torture and holy water for this angel, and the thought frightens the darker parts of him that cling to what he’s supposed to be.

The other parts can’t be arsed to care.

…

The main reason he wants to save the world from Armageddon is that when a side wins, whichever one it may be, he won’t be able to see Aziraphale anymore.

Sure, he covers that up with excuses of dolphins and whales and gorillas, but at the very core of his argument there is the solid fact that the angel has become an integral part of his being that he can’t be parted with (he doesn’t tell Aziraphale this, he can’t, but he hopes that the angel knows anyway, and can’t help wishing the reason he decides to help is because he can’t be parted with him either).

So he does everything he can to stop the end of the world, pointlessly spends eleven years with a spoiled brat (who, despite it all, he loves with all his shriveled heart) defies the system that he’s been a part of for 6000 years in a way they won’t be over to look over, not this time, and destroys his beloved Bentley, the only other thing besides his plants and Aziraphale that the demon has grown really attached to during his time on Earth.

Begs Aziraphale to just leave the doomed planet and run away to the stars, _twice,_ gets rejected again and again and _comes back for him anyway like the besotted fool he is._

And he loses his angel.

…

When he enters the burning building, he’s not quite thinking straight. Everything is hot, smoky, colored in a red-orange tinge he knows will haunt every single moment of the rest of his damned life. Books are burning, the beautiful words swallowed up, and _he can’t find Aziraphale._

Oh, God (Satan, _somebody, anybody, please)_ what has he done?

It’s Hastur, has to be, back for revenge, making good on his promises and destroying the only thing Crowley ever needed. He doesn’t realize the fire isn’t in fact hellish, just a stupid mistake in a room full of tinder. 

It’s all his fault.

Suddenly those 6000 years aren’t enough. He needs more time, more time to smile and laugh and drink and indulge with his angel, the being that has anchored him to this bloody rock for all eternity. 

_Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa…_

He swipes a book, any book (not knowing it is the very one that will save them) from the floor, picks himself up, and resolves to get himself drunk and stay that way until he goes up in flames with the rest of the fucking planet.

And then his angel is back (Crowley will always know him, no matter what form he takes).

When they win, and the respective sides decide to finally leave them alone, at least for now, he wants to make a move, aches for it, has never wanted anything more in his very, very long life. But the time in the after, in the new world Adam has created, is fragile, and even if he doesn’t want to admit it Aziraphale is adjusting and so is he.

So he waits (it is the hardest and easiest thing he has ever had to do).

…

When the time finally comes, it is not Crowley that makes the first move.

It is a Bad Day, where the demon is stuck in his own head, a day where he can’t stand to be what he is and wants to shut himself up in his apartment and not come out until the sun has exploded and turned the world into ash, or maybe to just douse himself in holy water and be done with it (he doesn’t always have these days, but when he does they come hard and leave him struggling to stay fixed to the ground he has come to love).

And somehow Aziraphale just _knows_.

His angel shows up at his flat, a nervous smile on his face and a bottle of vintage something in his hands that Crowley can’t be bothered to place but manages to quiet his mind all the same. The two talk and drink, the wine loosening them up, and Crowley’s mood lightens, all thanks to his angel, his Aziraphale.

And then all falls quiet, and Aziraphale is inching closer and closer, his hand suddenly inching towards Crowley’s thigh and his face close enough to his that the demon can feel the heat of his breath.

(He is burning, burning and falling, and he never wants it to end, wants to shout up to the heavens and down to hell, but all he can’t manage is-)

“ _Angel_.”

Then the cool lips of the beautiful being he knows he’s been in love with for 6000 years land on his own and his mind is filled only with Aziraphale, _his scent, his taste, closer, touch me, hold me,_ devour _me_.

The angel pulls back, and Crowley feels his stomach lurch, needs more, so he grabs his angel by the lapels and reels him back in, a growl escaping his throat.

He doesn’t know when they make it to the couch, but they do, and soon his shirt is across the room and his skin is sticking to the leather with sweat and Aziraphale is a reassuring weight on top of him, cool and refreshing while all he is is heat and fire and burning.

There are lips on his throat and they slowly move southward, and this is the closest he’s ever felt to divinity.

He yanks the angel up to him, locks gray eyes with burnt golden yellow ones, his chest rising and falling rapidly even though he has no need for breath.

“I love you.” The words tumble from his lips without warning, practically ripped from his throat, and he can’t take them back, doesn’t want to, even though his heart grows cold with fear of the angel’s response. He feels as if he has been laid out and cut open, all that he is on display for the wonderful being staring down at him.

Aziraphale’s face lights up (it almost literally beams with light, so angelic and beautiful the demon feels like he has to look away but can’t, would rather cut out his own tongue) and Crowley knows he shouldn’t have worried.

“My dear Crowley,” Aziraphale says, his voice soft and sweet, “what took you so long?”

And then their mouths are meeting again, and Crowley needs _more_ , more heat, more friction, more _Aziraphale_ , and his angel knows, always seems to, because his is pulling away, bringing the demon with him as he guides him to his bedroom, a room Crowley has used in the past but never _like this._

As the door clicks shut behind them, Crowley knows that everything he’s been through over the past 6000 years, every pain and heartache he’s ever faced, has been completely worth it.

…

Afterwards they are lying face to face, sweat cooling on their bodies, and Crowley has never felt so happy. His whole being is aching, but it is a good ache, one he wants to feel again and again. Aziraphale’s eyes are bright and filled with what he now sees as love, and he wants the angel to look at him like that for the rest of their time together.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Aziraphale whispers, and suddenly Crowley’s throat is tight and his eyes are stinging. A stray tear (when was the last time he cried in anything but pain?) escapes his eye, and Aziraphale gently wipes it away. Crowley squeezes his eyes shut, needs a moment before he can speak.

“I’ve wanted this… for so long…” he chokes out, eyes still closed. Aziraphale plants his lips on the demon’s forehead, shushing him quietly.

“I feel the same, darling. How I’ve loved you.” A wayward sob leaves Crowley’s throat and he buries his head into the angel’s neck.

They fall asleep this way, not exactly needing it but letting it take them anyway, tangled up in each others’ arms.

Crowley has Fallen so far, but with Aziraphale’s love he feels like he has already been Forgiven.

**Author's Note:**

> And there it is. Forgive me for any grammatical errors, the blatant abuse of parenthesis, and all the run on sentences that are definitely in there. It’s late (early?) and I’m not thinking straight. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading :)


End file.
